


Photo Finish

by ladyrogueevie (claire_debonair)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-03
Updated: 2008-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/ladyrogueevie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clandestine AU. <i>This story could start with a guy, a guy who wanted to design clothes. It could start with his friend, who agreed to help him do this. It could even start with a guy that friend found, and who (he still can’t figure out exactly how) got persuaded to help the first guy with this plan.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Photo Finish

This story could start with a guy, a guy who wanted to design clothes. It could start with his friend, who agreed to help him do this. It could even start with a guy that friend found, and who (he still can’t figure out exactly how) got persuaded to help the first guy with this plan. 

But it doesn’t. Because that’s not interesting or fun; it was just a lot of work, with the odd fight about how badly the colours clashed on some of the designs. It’s better to just jump to when that guy has his business, and it’s pretty successful. Well, very successful. 

He’s a smart guy. Plus people like him, and it’s not just his (mostly) good looks. He has charm, and that helps. 

This story does start, however, with a model breaking his leg, a pissed off photographer, and sexual tension you could cut with a knife. Seeing as he’s first on the list, we’ll start with the model. Or Gabe, as he likes to be called (well, it is his name). 

It’s his own fault, really. “It’s your own fault.” States Patrick, a frown appearing on his face as the doctor scurries off to round up a nurse and extra plaster of Paris. Gabe has very long legs. Oh, Patrick is the guy that the friend found, but more on that later. “If you hadn’t been chasing Bill, than you wouldn’t have slipped.” 

Gabe pouts. He does that a lot. He thinks it makes him look sexy but still upset. It doesn’t, really. “In that case, it’s technically Bill’s fault. If he hadn’t looked so good in those jeans, then I wouldn’t have been-” 

“Enough, please!” Patrick holds up a hand to stem the flow of words, shrinking backwards in the uncomfortable hospital chair. “I really don’t want to know what the sight of Bill in tight jeans does to you.” 

Gabe snickers, wincing as he momentarily forgets about his leg (yes that is possible, especially if you’re like Gabe). “I was just going to say that I wouldn’t have been chasing him if he hadn’t looked so good.” Patrick looks at him suspiciously, waiting for the next bit. “And the sight of Bill in tight jeans does the same to me what Pete in tight jeans does to you.” Oh, there it is.

“The hell are you talking about?” splutters Patrick, before being thankfully saved from any further displays of mild incoherency (not attractive) by the return of the doctor. He’d say he gets no satisfaction from Gabe’s pained expression as they lift his leg to begin, but his mom raised him not to lie. 

Well, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

\-- 

Clarification? Yeah, okay. That guy, the first one? He’s called Pete, and that little idea he had about designing clothes took off. Like, really took off. He called it Clandestine Industries, because he’s that sort of guy, and by the time he hits twenty-eight it’s a huge business. Those other two guys are still there, working with him. 

He’s skinny and short - not that that’s a bad thing, and besides, he has more than enough attitude to make up for it - with very dark hair that he has to straighten or it’s...well, interesting. The bangs were red, but he finally realized that look wasn’t so good and got rid of them. Golden skin, like liquid honey, is covered with tattoos of The Nightmare Before Christmas, a ring of thorns around his neck and one that just about everyone in Chicago has seen, whether they wanted to or not, the bartskull. 

Pete’s not shy, hence the badly-managed taking-of-and-sending-of naked pictures to an old girlfriend. He doesn’t have the best taste in women, either, which is probably why the pictures ended up on the Internet. 

Joe, the ‘friend’, is Head of Personnel. He’s normal height, skinny - not as much as Pete, but still - and he charms the new employees with his easygoing attitude and lots of weed, making sure they understand that Pete isn’t always an asshole, he just takes some getting used to. Really, he’s a nice guy, if a little weird about his dog, his - no, actually, jut a little weird in general. He’s okay so long as you don’t get in his way before coffee. 

One thing Joe has to explain, very carefully to every employee, is that they don’t hit on Patrick. Ever. Not unless you want to wind up dead. Seriously, Joe thinks Pete knows the New Jersey Mafia. He vaguely alludes to knowing someone down there, but refuses to say who. Thus, the Mafia. (It’s actually an ex-boyfriend, but Pete knows what Joe thinks and personally Pete thinks the Mafia is more interesting than Mikey Way.) 

Patrick is the ‘other guy’, as I mentioned. He’s about a head shorter than Pete, solidly built, and by that I mean built like a regular guy, not fat, and not like the girlishly-figured Pete. He looks incongruous next to the waif-thin models, so small and stocky, but it’s very clear that he’s the one in charge. His reddish-gold hair curls out from underneath his hat, and Pete will never, never admit that he nearly cried when Patrick had it cut this one time and it didn’t do that any more. 

Being Head of Advertising keeps Patrick busy, but he also keeps Pete in line and makes sure that the worst of his ideas for new hoodies get, um, ‘lost’. Great guy, Pete, but a little lacking in fashion sense. It’s okay when he sticks to bold colours and clever phrases, but when he busts out the patterns, well. Gabe won’t touch that shit, and he wears a picture of Justin Timberlake around his neck. 

Patrick is also the reason for the sexual tension. Not that he knows it, or possibly even notices, but he is. Along with Pete, of course. It drives everyone else fucking insane when they spend four hours working on stuff in Pete’s office, and then don’t get why that’s so obviously an indicator of the tension. No one else but Patrick can stand Pete for that long; he gets a bit manic about things, and Patrick is the only one who can keep him grounded. So Pete says, anyway. 

Joe knows Pete’s been in love with Patrick for years, since that day they met and Pete thought a kid wearing jean shorts, long black socks, a huge sweater and a trucker hat couldn't be any use when starting a clothing line. Joe also knows Patrick is the best friend Pete has ever had, and that his boss is never going to jeopardize that. 

Even if Patrick’s been in love with Pete for as long. Well, not as long. Pete can be pretty obnoxious when he tries to be, and those first days he really tried, until he saw the kid’s potential. Wasted time, he calls it. An almost escape, Joe says. 

So, now we know who the people are, we can move on to the second thing, the pissed-off photographer. Oh man. 

\-- 

Andy Hurley is…odd. And that’s putting it nicely. He’s a vegan, and comes to photoshoots with his own lunch in a little bag, even though Pete always lays out vegan and vegetarian food (Patrick is vegetarian, and Pete’s just being a ‘caring friend’. Sure). He sets it by the feet of his camera tripod, and glares at anyone who passes within four feet of it if he’s moved away for a moment. 

Jon, his tech, handles most of the people work, while Andy stands in his wifebeater showing off awesome tattoos and talking to Pete about old times in the Chicago scene. Jon gets the models ready, because he’s patient enough to deal with them, and Andy just isn’t. Plus Jon always gets them ready in record time. 

It’s not exactly common knowledge that he does this with the aid of the wardrobe guy, Spencer, so they can have more time to go and have sex in one of the empty conference rooms in the Clandestine building. Or, you know, just blowjobs if it’s a short shoot. Spencer’s best friend Ryan does the makeup, of which is always needed more than you’d think for mostly male models, and can often be persuaded (Jon suspects best-friend blackmail, but hasn't the courage to ask) to help them get more time free. 

Ryan is scary, which helps, and Bill just really likes the makeup. Bill can also get Gabe to do pretty much anything with a long look under his lashes and a tilt of his hips, so that's useful as well. 

Andy, right. Well. What happened was that Pete has a new line of jeans coming out; really dark washed ones with the outline of the bartskull on the pocket in a range of colors. He likes the pink one, personally, but - anyway, he hires Gabe and Bill for the photos, because his jeans will look killer on their long, lean legs, but. 

With Gabe in the hospital, Andy refuses to do the shoot with just one extremely tall model, muttering something about lighting and tone before shooting a gaze at Pete’s assistant Brendon (more on him later) as he leans curiously over Andy’s lunch. He flinches and moves away, looking like a kicked puppy. It’s kinda cute. 

Pete sighs the weary sigh of one who is dealing with a slightly irrational man, but is unable to slap and/or yell at him because he’s a friend. “If we could get Travis McCoy down here, would you consider doing the shoot then?” 

“Maybe. If he can be here today, because I’m not available tomorrow.” Pete knows this. Pete knows this because he has a very efficient assistant - told you there’d be more on Brendon - who somehow managed to persuade Andy’s own assistant to reveal his schedule. It’s probably because said assistant is a woman, and Brendon has a lovely voice. Not to mention a great ass, and he had gone over in person. 

Pete takes a moment to look at that ass as Brendon stands talking to Bill. He’s in love, not celibate, for god’s sake. Then Patrick returns from doing his best impression of worrying about Gabe and suddenly Brendon’s ass is not so great. And yes, Pete does know that Ryan would disembowel him with rusty teaspoons if he ever said that out loud, but Ryan is all the way on the other side of the studio. 

And there are no teaspoons around, rusty or otherwise.

“Hey.” Pete loves Patrick’s voice. He loves it even more when Patrick sings, but now is not the time. “Gabe’s not going anywhere soon.” 

“We were thinking of getting Travis-” 

“Can’t. He’s in L.A, some shoot for Maja.” Brendon is sneaky for a guy with so much energy. Pete nastily thinks that’s the only way he ever got close to the snippy Ryan to ask him out, but reprimands himself a second later for even thinking that. Brendon, with his floppy hair and Disney shirts, is adorable. 

“Fuck! Wait, how do you even know that?” Brendon looks shifty, or as much as he can be with the remnants of a Pixie Stick on his shirt and what looks like eyeliner smudged on his cheekbone. “Never mind. What the hell do we do now?” 

Everyone brainstorms. Actually, Brendon pretends to brainstorm and thinks about Ryan instead. Pete does the same about Patrick until he gives himself a mental slap and tries to focus. His brain, never having learned to do this completely while Patrick is standing next to him, helpfully supplies Patrick with ideas like ‘Patrick’s lips looks shiny. Does he have chapstick on them, or has he licked them?’ 

(Patrick has porn-star lips, a fact Pete is simultaneously grateful for and hateful of. The former because he spends a lot of the time he jerks off thinking about them, and the latter for the same reason. Patrick is his friend. Too bad his dick doesn’t get that.) 

It’s in the middle of a thought about Patrick’s chest, brought on by the hint of collarbone Pete can see if he tilts his head a little and look out of the corner of his eye - subtle, but it makes him see spots - that he has an idea. “Why don’t I do it?” 

Patrick gives him a look Pete, after long deliberation, likes to think of as his ‘I’m best friends with a genius’ look. It’s kinder to his ego that actually admitting that it’s probably an ‘I’m friends with a total douche’ look. Not that his ego needs any help, but still. “You, model the jeans yourself?” 

“Yeah! It’ll be cool, you know I like to be hands on with stuff.” Oh, how he’d love to be more hands on with Patrick - shutupbrainshutup. “What do you think, Andy?” 

The photographer gives Pete a very slow, very deliberate once-over, as if he doesn’t know exactly what Pete looks like, clothes or not. “I guess it’d work.” He says grudgingly after making Pete squirm. Seriously, from anyone else (like Patrick - shutupshutup) the attention would be welcomed, but Andy’s so straight he makes a ruler look gay. 

Unless he’s near Joe, which is something Pete really wants someone to explain to him. What is with that? 

But he’s got more pressing things on his mind than the alarming way Joe seems to be able to - albeit briefly - bring Andy over to his side of the tracks, like taking his clothes off. Which he does with very little prompting, bouncing over to where Ryan has a screen set up for Bill and Gabe to change behind. 

The screen wasn’t for them, who like Pete aren’t self-conscious at all. No, it was more for the other people in the room. Ryan rolls his eyes as Pete gets down to his boxers, snagging a pair of jeans the right size off his makeshift rack and throwing them at him. “Behind the screen now.” 

Pete attempts a leer. He’s sure he’s better at this than Patrick informs him, but - “Stop looking at me like that, it makes me want to bitchslap you.” Which, yeah, no thank you. Ryan’s done that before, when Pete made Brendon cry, and it is not an experience he wants to repeat. 

It was embarrassing, and it had hurt. Ice-pack and soothing noises from Patrick hurt. And you’d better believe Pete had milked that for all he was worth; Patrick rarely took his side with injuries, after so many years of them being Pete and only Pete’s fault, so being allowed to curl up in Patrick’s lap and get his hair stroked while holding the ice to his cheek was a novelty. 

Plus it had helped him jerk-off for…actually, he still was. Patrick smelled great, something Pete had known but never that close before, and it’d felt more intimate than the other hundred times Pete had sat in his lap, and - oh, right. Photoshoot. 

One thing Pete loves is attention, and as he follows Andy’s curt orders and Jon’s careful proddings to get into the right poses, he wonders why he’s never done one of the Clandestine shoots himself before now. He loses his shirt - screen printed with his dog’s face, it had caused a bit of consternation in the design room before Greta had declared it ‘darling’- ten minutes in, and it’s around then that he notices Patrick has left. 

He’s a little surprised at that; Patrick usually stays for the entire shoot, watching the entire process so he can maybe come up with something to add into the advertising campaign that will go along with the pictures. He’s surprised until Andy yells at him to smile again, and thinks Patrick probably had enough of Andy. 

Once the shoot is over, Andy won’t let anyone see the photographs. He carefully packs away the film canisters, leaving the equipment to Jon who packs away with mussed hair and a suspiciously happy smile on his face. Spencer wanders in five minutes before they leave, in a similar state. Pete fails to find his t-shirt as he watches them and wonders, sounding plaintive and whiny in his own head, why that can’t be him and Patrick. 

Then he firmly reminds himself of the ‘best friends’ thing, and just shoves his hoodie on. 

It’s difficult for him to concentrate that afternoon, spending more time staring at the office across the hall where he can see Patrick’s hat-covered head bent over his laptop, no doubt too busy to talk to Pete because of a project Pete had given him. 

Goddamn his own logic. Keeping Patrick busy meant less distractions and less hard-ons for Pete, but it also meant less Patrick, which sucked. The glass walls had probably been a bad idea as well, especially considering the angle of Patrick’s desk gave Pete a really good view of his thighs in old, slightly-tighter-than-usual jeans. 

Pete managed another five minutes of staring blankly out of his windows at the New York skyline (oh, yeah, they moved from Chicago. Not many people wanted garishly colored but cleverly worded hoodies in Chicago) before he was jolted out of his thoughts and almost his chair by the phone. 

Brendon was looking at him with wide eyes, pointing frantically at his own phone, currently at his ear and most likely on hold. Pete watched Brendon twitch, then picked up his own phone and starts twitching as well. It’s Andy. Andy in a bad mood, as shown by the lack of pleasantries and a tone that could cut glass. Or diamond. Anything stupid enough to get in Andy’s way, really. 

“The lab won’t have the photographs ready in time.” Pete considers making a snarky comment, like ‘hello to you too,’ but decides he likes his balls attached to his body and not served to him on a plate with salad. Andy can be creative with his threats. 

“Right. Well, you know we have a darkroom set up here, right? And Eric is very good at his job.” Eric is good, so long as he’s left alone to work. He’s one of the funniest guys Pete knows, a practical joker with an infectious laugh, but he gets weird about people being in the darkroom while he’s developing pictures. Pete wisely does not tell Andy this. 

“If you want them in time, then that’s what we’re going to have to do,” admits Andy, sounding like he’d rather admit he might be into Joe than have to accept his precious photos aren’t going to their normal place for development. “I’ll have Jon bring them over now.” 

He’s gone before Pete can say thank you, or even ask how long that will take so he can get Spencer out of the way. He’s got nothing against their…whatever they’re doing, but he doesn’t like it shoved in his face while Patrick remains so obviously over there and not his.

\-- 

Pete’s too late to stop Jon from vanishing with Spencer - he knows Brendon had something to do with it, because he looks guilty and slinks off as soon as he can after Pete tells him Jon’s bringing the film over - but he tries to ignore the stab of jealousy. Instead, he indulges in some Patrick-annoyance, bursting into Patrick’s office with a lack of regard for stupid stuff like ‘personal space’ and ‘work’. 

“You know, you’d probably get more work done if you stopped staring at me and looked at the pile of paperwork on your desk instead.” Oops. Patrick looks up from his computer with a little smile and a look in his eyes that makes Pete wonder just how unsubtle he is. He stamps that thought out before his brain can provide him with an accurate but depressing answer of: very. 

Oh. Shit. Well, that didn’t work. 

He distracts himself, and hopefully Patrick, by making a grand gesture with one hand, that may or may not knock Patrick’s pen-pot off his desk, and holds out the package containing the canisters of film from Andy. Patrick transfers his gaze to it, like it’s going to do something. Pete isn't stupid enough to pull that trick again, not after the bruises he got last time from Patrick. 

“The rolls of film from this afternoon,” he says, instead of pointing out that fact, because Patrick is likely to get pissed again and Pete doesn’t like that. Patrick angry makes him sad. And, okay, maybe a little turned-on, but shush. “He can’t get them developed in time, so he’s sent them over for Eric.” 

“So why are they in my face?” 

Pete tries to project non ‘your irritated face makes me hard’ vibes and smiles endearingly. Well, with lots of teeth. It usually works. The puppy eyes he’s trying to copy off Brendon seem to help as well, because Patrick sighs, rolls his eyes, and snags the package. “Fine. But you owe me; I was almost done with the plan for the ad for that dress, and if I don’t get it finished because you wanted me to play messenger boy, it’s your ass on the line.” 

Pete absolutely does not twist that into something resembling a fantasy that should stay safely in his head, at least until he’s in the privacy (safety) of his home. Or in the shower. A shower would be good right about now, he thinks as he watches Patrick’s own ass follow its equally hot owner to the elevator. 

Pete collapses into his chair, looks at the paperwork like Patrick told him to, then drifts off into the fantasy again. It’s just getting good - if good is defined as mind-melting images of Pete at his desk with Patrick sucking him off - when Brendon sticks his head cautiously around the door and tells him Ryan needs to speak to him about the makeup for another shoot. 

He’s gone before Pete can do anything more than nod, obviously too worried he’ll get into trouble about the Jon-and-Spencer thing earlier to notice exactly where Pete’s hands are, and the lag in understanding as his brain protests violently against being dragged away from such nice images of Patrick.

We’ll leave Pete to get himself sorted out, and see what Patrick’s doing. 

\-- 

Almost the same as Pete, actually. Minus the oh-my-god-I-am-actually-doing-this jerking off in a semi-public place, but the images are just as explicit. Okay, so, what happens is very straightforward. Patrick takes the film down to Eric, who beams at him and says they’ll be done by the end of the day. Patrick wanders off to talk to Spencer, who is once again ruffled and looking very smug, then returns to his office to finish the dress ad.

Pete is conspicuously absent from his office when Patrick gets back up to the floor they share, a fact which makes Patrick sigh with relief because it is so much easier to work without Pete making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He's pretty intense, especially when he thinks Patrick isn't looking. 

He gets the ad finished, and has just sent it to be checked by the other guys in the advertising department and for printing when Eric shows up and informs him the pictures are ready. Patrick reluctantly follows him back down to the darkroom, nodding a thanks when Eric hangs back and simultaneously cursing Pete under his breath. There are other ways for Pete to annoy him without sending him into the stuffy room, and then he sees Andy's pictures.

This is where the aforementioned tension is cut with the metaphorical knife, and snaps in Patrick’s face so hard he steps back from the rows of drying pictures and ends up knocking into the wall. He leans against it, feeling weak at the knees (clichéd, but what-the-fuck-ever) and stares at glossy photographs of Pete topless and in jeans that show off his sharp hips, desperately hoping with the part of his mind not currently re-directing blood flow that Eric doesn’t walk in. 

Contrary to what Pete thinks, Patrick does want him as more than a friend. It’s not a big secret; Ryan figured it our barely two weeks after he started working at Clandestine, Spencer right there with him (the twin smirks and Hips had been weird, if he’s honest), and Brendon followed soon after. Jon had it pegged after his third photoshoot, and now Patrick suspects Eric has it figured out because he seemed a little too eager to let Patrick look at the pictures alone. 

They aren’t full size, just sheets of proofs with the film specifications still down the side, but they’re more than enough to get Patrick hard. Pete does that to him on a regular basis anyway though, and that’s when he’s fully clothed. 

He’s taking a closer look - justifying it by telling himself he’ll have to look later when getting hard would be embarrassing - when he sees a very interesting set of prints. It’s the time frame that catches his eye, right when he was leaving because someone was bound to notice the connection between Pete’s shirt coming off and Patrick’s jeans getting uncomfortably tight around the crotch. 

The first, when he was out the door and checking the time on his cell, shows Pete looking in his direction. It’s a candid shot when his expression is something Andy would never have condoned for his shoot, lust mingled with longing that turns into confusion and sadness in the next frame, taken only a few moments later. 

So hey, turns out Pete? Is maybe more serious than Patrick had realized. 

See, Pete’s had a tendency to fall headlong into hook-ups and relationships, and Patrick has had to sit through the pathetic explanations of why they went to hell and how Pete ended up with yet another ex who wants to kill him. (The only one who doesn’t is Mikey, but Patrick doesn’t count him because he couldn’t kill a paper bag.) Patrick is therefore quite understandably hesitant to be the one Pete runs from instead of to. 

But now, confronted by about two hours' worth of Pete looking somehow vulnerably beautiful but also extremely Fuckable, Patrick’s not having those doubts anymore. Or he’s repressing them very successfully, which is way more likely. 

\-- 

So, now that we know what Patrick is occupied with, we can turn to Pete. He wanders out of the elevator, his attention taken up by wondering where Brendon is and how to tell him off for aiding Jon and Spencer’s trysts (he likes that word, it’d look good on some kind of top) without bringing Ryan’s wrath onto himself. In the hours before Eric also finds him to let him know that the photos are drying, he hangs around Ryan, spends an hour playing games on his computer and generally makes a nuisance of himself around the Clandestine building.

He's that peculiar type of distracted that only comes from doing nothing in particular for hours when he gets near the darkroom, walking along with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and his bangs over his eyes, thoughts preoccupied with pretty words that could fit onto a tank top.

It’s understandable, then, that he fails to see Patrick walking determinedly towards him- who the fuck is he kidding, how is it possible that he doesn’t see the five-foot-something of gorgeous guy who has been responsible for every wet dream since he was twenty-one? It’s even worse when Pete finally does notice, about ten seconds before his arm is grabbed and he’s yanked sideways through a door, because the look in Patrick’s eyes practically screams ‘I don’t want to be platonic anymore’.   
After the door's shut, though, it’s kinda hard for Pete to not see Patrick, what with the lack of space between their bodies and Patrick’s thigh pressed between his legs. And there’s the fact that Pete has never been the type of guy to pass up the opportunity to make out, so it’s a good few minutes before he tears his lips away from Patrick’s own slickly red ones to say anything. 

“I thought you didn’t-” Pete has an actual sentence planned, really he does, but it flies out of his head in favor of the more succinct “Fuck, Patrick!” Wow, he must really be into this if he hadn’t noticed one of Patrick’s hands stop pressing his shoulders to the wall between a couple of copiers - god, yet another cliché - to get his jeans undone. 

Patrick’s evil-tinged smirk isn’t helping the coherency issues either. It’s possibly the hottest expression Pete’s ever seen on his friend’s face, including when he bites his lip. “Do you really want to have the ‘we’re best friends, are we sure about this-slash-office romances are forbidden’ talk while I have your dick in my hand?” 

Pete can manage an answer in correct English, he knows it. “Nnnnngh." Okay, fine, he hasn’t got enough blood north of his pelvis to keep him conscious and allow for full sentences, so sue him. Then something weird happens to his vision, because when it clears and he can see without the edges being blurred, Patrick is on his knees and Pete’s dick- well, it’s no longer in Patrick’s hand.

It’s probably because actually seeing Patrick there is so much better than his imagination had shown him that his brain couldn’t cope for a moment, but at this point, who really cares?

Pete shivers from teasing licks, holds himself upright on the copy machines when Patrick swallows him right down that golden throat - seriously, awesome singer - and fails miserably at holding in a whimperslashmoan or three when Patrick sucks strongly at the head of his dick, a hand calloused from holding a pen and a guitar jerking him off in rough, sure strokes as he does so.

When Pete’s vision clears for the second time, he barely manages to stay standing under the knowledge that a) Patrick just blew him, b) Patrick swallowed and c) holy shit he can taste himself in Patrick’s mouth. And who said it’s impossible to have a coherent thought during sex? Or as close as they’re gonna get in a copy room, anyway. 

Pete tries to think of something not Patrick-related and can’t, before he gives himself yet another mental slap and focuses on the task at hand. Namely, getting Patrick off. Which, judging by the groan he makes when Pete’s thigh rubs against the bulge in his jeans, shouldn’t be that difficult. Well, it wouldn’t if Pete could persuade himself to free one hand either from Patrick’s hair or his shirt to help him out.

The shirt loses (Patrick’s hair is so soft, and Pete did almost cry that one time he couldn’t look at it and imagine twining it around his hands), so eventually Pete does get a hand down Patrick’s pants and around his cock, the awkward angle resulting in jerky strokes that nevertheless have him biting at the skin of Pete’s neck and coming hotly over his hand in minutes.

That and the way his hips move to rub himself against Pete’s leg, which oh my god is almost too hot for Pete to handle so soon after coming. Pete has the very vague thought, before his mind shuts down again, that it’s really not fair that Patrick can turn on the spine-melting, brain-killing hotness like that.

Pete needs a warning, or possibly several, before Patrick can just suck two of his sticky fingers into that lush mouth and clean them off with a tongue Pete suddenly and desperately wants to put to more uses. 

Patrick releases Pete’s fingers to nip at his bottom lip and whisper low and dirty in his ear that “We could leave early, go back to your place. You’re the boss, no one would say anything.” 

“I’m pretty sure they’d say something about us going off together.” Hey, look, his vocabulary decided to come back. It promptly flees again when Patrick chuckles, the sound thick and rich and destined to float through Pete’s head whenever he jerks off from now until he dies. Probably beyond too. 

“Do – we – care?” Patrick punctuates each word with a short kiss and a roll of his hips, which makes Pete glad he’s both easily able to go again soon and also that he can leave. 

Ryan almost catches them, but Brendon distracts him. Pete thinks it’s Brendon’s way of saying sorry for the Jon and Spencer thing, and instantly forgives him. 

Plus, it’s kind of difficult to stay mad at anything with Patrick’s hand in his pocket and his voice murmuring the filthiest things in his ear. 

\--

It doesn’t take long for people to realize they got a clue. The next day, actually, when Brendon walks in on Patrick straddling Pete in his office chair, kissing long and deep while Pete’s hands slip up Patrick’s shirt. He stands in the doorway for a full minute before Pete catches sight of him over Patrick's shoulder, and when they look at him, a little embarrassed but mostly unrepentant, he squeaks and rushes out. 

And because Brendon is like a four year-old with stuff like that, they get Ryan, ten minutes later at the most, telling them it’s about fucking time, hands on hips and his collection of scarves artfully arranged over a shirt Patrick's sure he stole from the very feminine Greta. Spencer arrives half an hour later saying the same thing as Ryan with almost the exact same wording (freaky best-friends-almost-since-birth), only he forgoes the hips in favor of pointing a finger at Pete and saying sternly, "If you fuck this up, Ryan and I will kill you, and Brendon and Jon will help us hide the body."

Pete is maybe worried by Patrick's lack of worry about this statement, at least until Patrick assures him, "I'll protect you" and gives him an open-mouthed kiss. 

Patrick is scary when he wants to be.

Spencer doesn’t even have the grace to wait until he’s out of sight of Pete and Patrick to call Jon. They watch as he waits for the elevator back down to his precious closet (it’s the size of most apartments, but technically it’s a closet), cell phone to his ear and spilling all. Pete tries to tell Jon to pass on a threat to Spencer’s hair, but is foiled when Patrick grabs the phone and hangs up with a cheery goodbye before Pete can get the words out. 

The amount of tongue in his next kiss makes up for it though. 

Joe gives them a thumbs up, also passing a congratulations on from Andy (Pete still wants someone to explain that, please), as well as a plea not to get a commitment ceremony because - Pete interrupts and tells Joe to pass their thanks back. 

He is going to marry Patrick, or commit himself, or whatever, even if Patrick doesn’t exactly know that yet. 

Life is full of surprises, like who won the betting pool. Pete suspects Gabe, but no one’s talking. 

Trying to work that out will have to wait until he doesn’t have a lapful of Patrick, though; there are some moments you just don’t waste thinking about the unimportant shit in life.


End file.
